Beowulf's Return (Tales of Beowulf)

by Tim Hodkinson

Copyright © Tim Hodkinson 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be

reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion

of brief quotation in review, without permission from the
author

There was a time when heroes and
monsters walked the earth. After the great Roman Empire fell and before the
high days of chivalry arose, the peoples of Europe fell into darkness. The
tribes of the north began great migrations across seas and continents, fighting
others and themselves, taking lands by the sword and founding mighty kingdoms.
In those days men worshipped heathen Gods: Woden, Frey and Thunor. It was a
time of ruthless kings and valiant heroes who fought enemies both human and
supernatural.  In the wastes and wildernesses, the freezing tops of the
mountains and the misty, murky bogs dwelt the demons who haunted and tormented
these people: man devouring
Ettins
, blood drinking
thyrsar
, dark
elves who worked evil magic and
dreag
, the revenants of dead men who
returned from their graves. In this time came the hero Beowulf. An epic poem
tells how he travelled from his home in the land of the Geats and defeated the
terrible man-eating creature Grendal in the land of the Spear-Danes. When
Grendal's mother sought revenge Beowulf killed her too. The poem tells also how
many years later Beowulf fought against a dragon but in the decades in between
Beowulf had many other adventures. This is one of them.

This was the time of
the Middle Earth.

The longship scythed through the grey
waves like a spear blade. It had no mast or sail, instead its swift progress
across the grey freezing waters of the Northern Sea was propelled by the twenty
hardened warriors who manned its ranks of oars.

At its dragon-carved
prow stood a bear of a man, broad chest and powerfully built. He savoured the
taste of salt in the air. The cold wind stung his skin and whipped his long
blond hair behind his head over the black bear's pelt he wore as a cloak around
his shoulders. His tunic and britches were of the highest quality but he wore
no armour or helmet, because he was on his way home.

A cheer rose from the
warriors toiling at the oars as the sight of land arose from the waves ahead.
They had been away from home for years now. Too long.

"We're nearly home
lads," the big man shouted over his shoulder, his words loud and clear
despite the buffeting wind. The warriors responded with eager glances over
their shoulders. Ignoring their aching shoulders, fatigued from the long voyage,
they redoubled their efforts on the oars.

The beach was a couple
of ship lengths away and through the mist and spray that rose from the freezing
waves a group of figures could be seen moving on the land.

"Beowulf, look: A
welcoming committee," Weohstan, the warrior who stood beside the big man
said, pointing at the figures on the beach.

"Our friends and
relatives," Beowulf grinned. "It will be good to see everyone
again."

His grin faded a little
as he narrowed his eyes, squinting against the morning sunshine. There was
something not quite right about the people waiting for them. The glint of
sunlight on armour made it suddenly clear.

"That's no
welcoming committee," Beowulf growled. "That's a war party."

 Weohstan started and
looked again. The men on the beach were armed to the teeth. Burnished chainmail
glittered in sunlight that also glinted from helmets, swords and spear tips.
Brightly painted shields were locked together in the unmistakable defencive
formation of a shield wall. The message was clear. What awaited on the beach
was not a welcome but a confrontation.

"Prepare for
battle," Beowulf shouted to the rest of the men in the boat. The warriors
from Beowulf's war band at first looked confused then their training took over.
They dropped their oars and reached for weapons, armour and helmets. There were
several moments of frantic activity as the warriors scrambled into their
fighting harness and unhitched their shields from the side of the ship. Beowulf
grabbed his own helmet as the boat shuddered and a loud grinding sound
announced that they were grounding on the stones of the beach. He looked up and
saw the warriors on the land already advancing towards them.

Beowulf turned to yell
orders to his men when suddenly he froze. Intense pain stabbed through his
right arm. He cried out in surprise and anguish and bent over, grabbing the
limb with the other hand.

"I'm hit!" he
cried out, looking down and expecting to see the shaft of an arrow protruding
from his arm or a spear in his shoulder. His face creased with bafflement when
he saw no evidence of injury.

Beowulf suddenly gasped
again as another acute pain seized his left thigh. Cramp-like and just as
crippling, the big man dropped to his knees, unable to support himself while
his leg spasmed.

"By the
Lord!" the Beowulf exclaimed, his face contorted with agony and confusion.
"I'm hit again but there is no wound."

Weohstan looked down at
his leader, worry etched on his face.

"This is
seithr
,"
he said. "Witches' work." He looked at the beach and saw that the
warriors were about twenty paces away and closing fast. There was no time to
tend to Beowulf further. They would have to fight without him.

The fifty men on the
beach outnumbered the crew of the ship more than two to one. Beowulf's men
swarmed over the prow, jumping into the surf and wading urgently up onto dry
land. It was imperative they got onto a defensible position before the
defenders reached them as they would slaughter them in the shallow water. Once
all were on the pebbles they formed up, locking shields side by side to form a
wall.

"I must go."

Beowulf looked up and
saw through the haze of his agony that Weohstan bent over him. Through gritted
teeth he nodded and his second in command leapt off the prow.

With a roar of war
cries the two bands of warriors closed on each other. Shields thumped against
shields and swords rang against armour. Men growled and screamed curses at each
other from behind the visors of their helmets.

 Hearing the start of
the battle and knowing his men were fighting, outnumbered and without him,
Beowulf swore. He called for strength on his God: Ingvi, the God of his people
who was commonly called
Frey,
the Lord. He dragged himself up onto the
prow to see what was going on. On the beach his men had formed an arrowhead
formation to stop the defenders coming around their flanks but their inferior
numbers were already telling. They had put five of the defenders down but four
of his men lay on the pebbles, whether wounded or killed he could not tell.

Despite the pain in his
arm and leg, rage began to boil in him. They had ventured across the icy
northern sea, they had fought-and defeated-Grendal the
ettin
, a monster
from the marshlands. Then when Grendal's mother had come to avenge her son they
had killed her too. After surviving all that they were now dying on the very
shores of their homeland at the hands of faceless enemies who had attacked them
for no reason.

He had to join his men,
even if it was just to die alongside them. With a roar he dragged himself to
his feet though bent double from the pain, his crippled arm hugged close in to
his stomach. He lurched up onto the prow of the ship and as he did so another
stab of pain shot through his body, this time in his right thigh. It felt for
all the world like a spear shaft going through his leg, yet there was no weapon
visible, no blood and no wound. Unable to stop himself he screamed out in
agony, his back arched and he tried to grasp the limb. Losing his balance
Beowulf tumbled off the prow and into the freezing surf below.

For a moment all other
sensation was drowned by the shock of hitting the cold water. He lay flat on
his back in the shallow water, gasping to control his breathing and racing
heart. At first he thought the icy water had numbed the feeling, but then as
his other senses returned to normal he realised that the mysterious
debilitating agony in his limbs had vanished when he hit the waves. A wave
closed over him, completely soaking him, and he decided that the strange
enchantment was definitely gone and if he did not get up, he would drown.

In a second Beowulf was
on his feet, soaked to the skin and his hair trailing water. He had no time to
consider what had happened to him: his men needed his help. Spray flying, he
charged up out of the water roaring his defiance in an incoherent war cry. He
ripped the great ring sword-the trophy he had won for killing the shadow walker
Grendal's fiendish mother-from its sheath. The polished metal of the blade
gleamed in the misty morning sunlight. Heedless of the fact that he wore no
armour or helmet, Beowulf plunged straight into the fight. Weohstan, who was at
the point of the arrow formation, heard his lord bellowing and instinctively
stepped aside. The big warrior ploughed past him, dipping his shoulder into the
shield of the first man in his way. Even though he had been braced against
Weohstan, the force of Beowulf's charge sent the man sprawling onto his back.
Beowulf stormed forwards, standing on the man and swinging his sword in a
deadly arc that connected with the helmet of the warrior to his right. With a
startled cry the man collapsed, knees buckling as he dropped to the pebbles.

The arrow formation
could serve equally well in attack as defence. With a hole battered through the
shield wall of the opposing force, Beowulf's men surged forward behind their
leader, splitting the defenders ranks completely in two and surging up the
beach to higher ground.

A horn blared out a
loud signal from further up the beach. As one, the defenders disengaged and
fell back from their assault. Beowulf and his men took the opportunity to
regroup and formed another shield wall, this time they were higher and with the
advantage. The defenders peered at them over the tops of their shields but none
of them advanced.

The sound of hooves
crunching on pebbles made Beowulf turn around and he saw mounted figures coming
down towards them. This was no cavalry attack however. Only one of the three
horse riders was ready for war. He was a large, broad chested man like Beowulf
who sat tall in the saddle. From under a magnificent, gold covered, visored
helmet his white hair spilt across his shoulders and a long beard the same
colour cascaded down the front of his burnished mail coat. His shoulders were
wrapped in a heavy fur cloak. All his equipment was of the finest quality and
in his gauntleted right fist he bore the huge gilded war horn that had
signalled the cessation of hostilities. Beside him rode a young woman in a deep
red, fur trimmed cloak and long, linen dress. She was striking in her beauty
and her long blond hair cascaded down her back like a golden waterfall. The
third rider was a middle-aged man wrapped in a dark brown, hooded cloak who
wore no armour and bore no weapon.

"Beowulf!"
the helmeted rider called. "Is it you? It is good to see you my
nephew!"

A blaze crackled in the fire pit at the
centre of the great feasting hall of Hygelac. Rich tapestries adorned the
walls, slaves hurried around, laden with dishes while musicians played tunes to
entertain the dining warriors. Beowulf's men sat on benches beside the long
tables, filling their hungry bellies with meat and fish, all washed down with
ale that came from the best vats in the King's kitchens. Their wounded were in
a different building receiving treatment for their injuries. Now the men sat
alongside the warriors who only that morning they had been locked in deadly
combat with. Now the beer and fellowship meant that all that was being
exchanged were jokes and songs.

It had all been a
terrible mistake. Hygelac, the King of Geatland and Beowulf's uncle, had
explained the situation as they travelled from the beach where the battle had
taken place to his royal
burgh
, the fortress and dwelling of the King,
his court, his thanes, servants and the many others who supported to royal household.
The Geats had been expecting an attack and when the coastguard spotted a
strange ship approaching they had assumed the worst. As they passed through the
countryside, the settlement that surrounded Hygelac's royal compound and now in
the great feasting hall itself, Beowulf noted plenty of signs that his homeland
was not a country enjoying the peace and prosperity that had prevailed when
left it several years before. Bands of warriors, armed and ready for war
patrolled everywhere. Even the peasants and merchants they passed were all
armed in some way. Several times they passed through settlements and villages
that had recently been destroyed by fire. The only sign of the former
inhabitants were some freshly dug grave mounds. Even now they were in the
feasting hall of Hygelac at the centre of the
burgh
, Beowulf noted that
the King's men were far from relaxed. As the afternoon darkened into evening
the doors were shut, barred and a squad of warriors remained armed and on guard
by them. Those men who sat down to eat at the benches also drank their ale, but
drank it sparingly. This all made Beowulf uneasy so when the opportunity arose,
he had pulled Weohstan aside and told him to order his own men to do the same.

At the top table, set
on a raised platform at the head of the room, Hygelac the King apologised to
his nephew for the third time. Hygelac was a proud man, and Beowulf appreciated
what it must take for his to say sorry once, never mind three times.

"Our land faces a
time of crisis, Beowulf," Hygelac said. "Our borders are under
attack. Villages have been burned along the coast and no survivors left to say
who did it. Raiders have been seen in ships out to sea but they fly no flag. A
dark force of warriors are abroad in the night. They attack a village then
vanish by dawn. We are ready for war but do not know when it is coming or where
from. The coast guard have orders to attack any strange ship approaching our
land, which is what happened to you today."

"It must be the
Wulfings,"- Beowulf commented. The neighbours and ancient enemy of his
clan were the most likely people to cause the Geats trouble. They had fought
each other for centuries. His own late father had been outlawed in an illegal
blood feud with them.

Hygelac shook his head.
"My marriage to Hygd, here"-he laid a hand on that of the beautiful
young woman who sat on his left, "was designed to bring peace between us
and the Wulfings."

"The Queen is a
Wulfing?" Beowulf narrowed his eyes, unable to conceal his immediate
suspicion of the woman. Hygd returned his look with a pair of ice-blue eyes
that reciprocated his challenge.

"She is the
daughter of Helgi, the King of the Wulfings," Hygelac said, his tone
turning censorious as he observed Beowulf's reaction. "Our marriage was a
condition of the peace treaty arranged between our peoples that was agreed
while you were overseas."

"A
truce
with the Wulfings?" Beowulf's eyes were now wide open with incredulity. He
sat back in his chair, shook his head then took a swig of the strong ale that frothed
in his silver-decorated drinking horn.

"You disapprove of
peace between our peoples?" the Queen interjected, her tone laden with
accusation.

"The Wulfings
cannot be trusted," Beowulf stated. "Your people worship the one-eyed
God of War, Woden. His faith teaches treachery, lying and deceit. Betrayal is a
virtue to you. Nor do your folk deign to use dark magic and
siethr.
"

"You would rather
our two people fought each other forever ? That the killing just went on and
on?" Hygd said.

Beowulf shrugged.
"Why not? If the choice is between war and a dishonourable peace then I
know what I would rather have."

"The Queen has
converted to our religion," a new voice interjected. "As a sign of
good faith. She now acknowledges the supremacy of the Lord, Ingvi, as the true
God deserving worship."

Beowulf turned to see
that the man who spoke was the third rider from the beach earlier. He had now
taken off the heavy cloak and Beowulf saw that the man wore the belted white
linen robe and heavy metal amulet of a priest of Ingvi.

"Anyone can
pretend to profess a faith," Beowulf said.

There was a scraping
sound as the King pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. A hush descended
on the hall.

"The Wulfings have
honoured the peace, Beowulf," Hygelac growled, rising to his feet. "I
know well how my brother Ecgtheow, your late father-may his soul rest with the
Lord-spent his life fighting the Wulfings for our people, but that is now the
past. I will not have their motives-or that of my Queen-questioned. Hygd has
worked ceaselessly to bring our two people together, and these dark events that
beset us cause her as much distress as me. More so: Her sleep at night is
disturbed, beset by nightmares, she is so tormented by the worry of it
all."

For several seconds he
locked eyes with Beowulf. The big man held his gaze. All around the room men's
hands dropped to the knives at their belts or inched towards anything they
could use as a weapon. The tension was palpable in the silence that gripped the
hall.

Finally Beowulf raised
a conciliatory hand. "If you are satisfied of her good faith, uncle, then
that is good enough for me," he said. "You know my family history
with the Wulfings, so forgive my suspicious nature."

Hygelac paused a moment
then nodded to show he accepted Beowulf's apology. He sat down again and the
silent tension in the hall burst into relieved chatter again.

"This is Ingeld,
the chief priest of our faith and my personal Thyl," Hygelac said, laying
a hand on the shoulder of the man in priest's robes. Ingeld nodded and sat down
beside the King. "He is my right hand man and councillor in all things. He
was the chief architect of the peace treaty with the Wulfings. And while our
efforts are not directed at war our land has prospered-until the current
problems. We have much to thanks him for."

Beowulf took another
swig of ale and studied Ingeld's face as he reflected on the changes that had
happened since he had left. He and his men had been away for several years, and
he had expected changes to have occurred, however the extent of the changes
surprised him. The King had not been married nor had the priest been part of
the court that he could remember.

Ingeld's blushed and
looked down at the table. "I deserve no credit," he said. "I
simply follow the example of our Lord, Frey, who taught that peace and
prosperity are what all good people should strive for, not discord and
war."

"Wise words. And
on that note, let us argue no more," Hygelac's face softened into a smile.
"Tonight is for feasting. A welcome respite in our time of trouble."

 "I hear you
defeated a monster," the Queen said as a trencher of steaming meat was put
down on the table before them. "And it's mother?"

 "Two devourers of
men from the marshes," Beowulf said. "I never believed such creatures
existed until I saw them with my own eyes."

"Well I am glad
you are back," Hygelac said. "Strange things are happening here too.
In these dark times my bravest warriors dare not venture outside at
night."

"That is perhaps
why these mysterious raiders can get away with what they do," Beowulf
chided gently.

Ingeld shook his head.
"It is not that simple. The raiders are uncanny."

"Uncanny?"
Beowulf echoed, without realising it rubbing his arm that where it had earlier
been gripped by the strange pain. "You mean there is witchcraft
involved?"

"Evil magic is at
the heart of it," the King said. "The few people who have seen the
raiders and survived swear they are people they know: Warriors who have died.
Men who should be in their graves are running around at night causing havoc."

Beowulf frowned.
"What nonsense is this? Dead men walking? The
dreag
belong to
legends, not real life. Who leads them? Hel herself?"

He noticed that all the
other three exchanged glances but could not quite fathom what it meant.

"A great black
devil dog, like the Black
Shuc
,
runs before them and they are led
by a great champion, a man head and shoulders bigger than a normal man and
twice as strong," Hygelac said. "They call him the Dead Lord. Several
people testify to who they believe this man is-or rather was-but I refuse to
believe it. I will not repeat their mistaken reports as it slanders a great
hero of our people. This troop of the dead leave their grave mounds at the
darkest hour of the night and create mayhem. When the sun rises they are gone
like the morning mist."

"They started
attacking isolated villages on the coast but moved inland, getting closer and
closer to here," the Queen said, her eyes filled with dread. "Who
knows when they will finally attack us?"

Hygelac laid a
comforting hand on his much younger wife's shoulder. "Now my dear, do not
fret. We have warriors, ramparts and gates to protect us here if they
come."

"But how can you
kill men who are already dead?" the Queen breathed.

"When the land is
beset by enchantments," Ingeld pronounced. "Only the Lord can help
us. We must put our faith in Him."

Beowulf frowned. Dead
warriors attacking the living at night and supernatural dogs were the stuff of
midwinter stories, not real life. It seemed like nonsense or trickery. Then
again he had seen with his own eyes the
ettin
, Grendel and ventured into
the horrible underwater cave his troll of a mother dwelt in. Such things
could
exist. He recalled the strange pain that had gripped him on the ship earlier
and with a sigh related the story to the others.

"That is the
Elf-shot, or witch-shot," Ingeld said. "A magic working like the
shooting of an invisible arrow. A creature of malice directed a spell at
you."

"It vanished when
I fell into the sea."

"No spell can work
in running water, either a river or the tide of the sea," Ingeld said.
"Falling in saved you."

"I want to help,
Hygelac," Beowulf addressed the King. "My men and I are at your
disposal. We have fought otherworldly creatures overseas and now we must do the
same in our homeland."

"Thank you,
Beowulf," Hygelac grinned. "I would have expected nothing less from
the son of Ecgtheow. But you all have had a long journey and tired men are not
much use in a fight. For tonight, at least, all of you get some rest and
tomorrow we will form a plan of action."

Beowulf nodded and took
another swig of ale, looking sideways at the Queen as he did so and thinking to
himself that there would be no rest for him that night. He would take his own
action later.